


Eyes

by hyperions



Series: Shapes of Love [2]
Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga), Devilman Crybaby - Fandom
Genre: F/F, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-14 12:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13589766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperions/pseuds/hyperions
Summary: They only have one moment to spare and Miki can't stop looking into those green, green eyes.





	Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to write something for my favorite girls!!! This is part of the same kind of inspiration for my other one-shot, "Wings," as I'm planning on writing a POV piece for each of the "main four," so there will definitely be more coming. But yeah I don't see nearly enough content for mikimiki, so I had to get in on that & contribute. Hope you enjoy!! Also yo Happy Femslash February (:
> 
> Also this is a tiny bit canon-divergent because the anime literally gives them like two seconds to vent out their feelings, lmao. So consider this a small moment between Miki's love confession and the riot's arrival. I just want to give the Mikis a little more time to themselves ok.

Green. Green like the flower leaves she waters. Green like the grass under their feet when they run by the river. Green like the hot flush of envy crawling under her skin.

Makimura Miki's eyes are just _so_  green.

Green in a kind of pale warmth, a seafoam softness that makes Kuroda Miki's ribs clench tighter than she's used to. It reminds her of when they were kids, of all the afternoons spent running and running and running. She'd glance back over her shoulder and Miki would be there with those eyes -- that green that shines so sparkling in a setting sun and spurs her faster with a secret smile.

For a while, the abrupt clinch in her chest isn't warmth blossoming voluptuous petals like in her garden, like feathers lifting her up in adoration. For a while, it is something heavier, harder. The years pass and Makimura comes closer and closer to passing her in the next lane. And, finally, she does it and of course she does it as graceful and charming as she does everything.

Perfect Miki. Beautiful, gracious, brave, _perfect_  Miki.

And Kuroda Miki becomes Miko -- a shadow forced to chase what she cannot have, lost in the path of the flesh-and-blood girl everyone wants to know.

That's when it starts, that's when something ice cold grows between her throbbing ribs private and secret where her friends can't see. She feels the guilt of it, too. She feels the sickening twist in her stomach when she hears her own voice in her head wishing spiteful things on the girl who used to have her thoughts cooing a much different tune.

 _Stupid bitch_ , the voice snaps. _She doesn't work as hard as you do. She doesn't deserve to have everything and more_. Bitter, cruel, harsh, angry. _She took your goddamn name._

A part of her hates these thoughts. A part of her thrives on them.

Both of these are kept buried down deep; deep because she knows it's not her place to be anything but quiet, pleasant Miko. Miko, who's always taking Miki's phonecalls. Miko, who makes excuses for her friends so they can bask in the freedom she can't have. Miko, who bows her head and smiles throughout the course of a day that makes her veins boil over with hidden hurt. Miko, who tends to her grandmother's every demand even when the woman's voice drags claws on a chalkboard and makes her wish she could really, truly run away. 

_And keep running, running, running -- no one would even notice, would they?_

The boy who sings to her the story of her life is a step back in the better direction -- the one that misses the old days and the old fondness for green, green eyes. Kukun, whose heart leaks open red through his raps and into the cups of her palms, is a sweetness she didn't know she could welcome back into her life. He makes a crack in the ice crystallized on young bones, on young ribs that miss the flowers that used to grow there.

But he leaves as fast as he arrives and she thinks she still smells his blood under her fingernails.

Not her fault, not her hands, but said hands didn't put him back together again, either.

Now, days later, she sits with Makimura in her room and gazes down at the face of the girl she's hated since she stole her name. There may be chaos out on the streets where human and demon blood mix alike on the pavement, but here in this bedroom there is old memories and cat pictures on the walls and soft hair brushing the side of her thigh. Miki lets her gaze wander over the room she's been in a hundred times as Makimura naps beside her. She's secretly grateful she's asleep otherwise she might coax something sappy out of her. They don't have much time to rest before they need to leave.

Miki doesn't do sappy these days (even when she wants to, even when she still has moments of softness in spite of the pincers she can use to tear a man's head from his neck like its tissue paper). But when Makimura Miki looks up at her with those eyes -- that face, those plush-looking lips curled into a smile -- all the barbed wire and sharpened edges of her go dull with the remnants of fondness she can't seem to shake ( _doesn't want to shake_ ).

As much as she's _hated_  Makimura for the past few years and with an intensity that has burned a concealed bonfire in the beats of her heart, she can always find herself smiling back at her. The flames subside, cooled by a velvet, ocean mist that leaves only the hiss of steam and a yearning that's taken Miki this long to place properly. There may have been times where she's wanted to punch her square in the jaw, but there are more times where she would've rather leaned in and peppered soft kisses over it instead. Even now -- even when a demon's hunger stirs ravenous and insatiable with gnashing teeth inside her -- she still feels these tender urges so unbecoming of the aggressive profile she cuts powerful and ruthless through the crowd.

So when Makimura's eyes finally do flutter open and look up at her drowsy, reassured, and adoring, Miki almost feels like a deer trapped in the beam of someone's headlights. Maybe she deserves to get run over if she's that easy to blind.

As always, it's like the other Miki can read her thoughts exactly. One small hand lifts to brush a few fingers to the curve of her cheek as a voice drifts up quietly. "Miko... Are you all right?" She tilts her head to one side and her hair falls halfway over her eyes as her smile widens cute at the edges. "Looks like you've got a lot on your mind."

Miki thinks she'd like her eyes to sharpen and her countenance to become something harder, indifferent. But instead her whole expression softens further and she even manages a small grin. "That obvious?" she replies as Makimura sits up, rubbing her eyes free of sleep as she exhales the chirp of a laugh.  
"A little."

Even with the dead weight of aged bitterness scratching the back of her throat, Miki turns her face away to swallow it all the way down (feels it's earned when it goes down in jagged, cutting edges like broken glass). But as she opens her mouth to explain herself, there's small fingertips gripping her chin feather-light but still so strong, tilting her face back toward Makimura and her large, green eyes. She must look surprised because her friend leans their foreheads together oh-so-tenderly, intimate enough that their eyelashes barely brush together like delicate butterfly wings.

"It's okay," Makimura says and Miki can feel her heart twisting tighter. "There's so much going on... But we've got each other. So we'll be okay."

_I hated you._

_I_ _knew that._

_But I loved you._

_I_ _knew that too._

At that, Miki practically feels the other girl's fingers plucking gingerly at her heartstrings, playing a song on the lute of her feelings so repressed for so long _(I hate you. I need you. I want you. I'm scared. I'm not good enough. Love me back. Hate me back. Please. Anything. Please_ ). This time, Makimura is listening loud and clear to the chords that play even in the devotion of bright amber eyes as they keep transfixed within soothing jade.

"I knew that." It's Miki's turn to say it this time and it's smothered between their mouths in a slow, soft kiss.  
They've got each other. They'll be okay.

Abruptly, the warmth in her chest returns in a full, rich bloom of sensation. She presses Makimura back down into the bed and climbs on top of her, kissing her deeper as long, lanky arms wrap around her neck as encouraging as ever. There's a low snarl in the back of her throat as her teeth snag on one of those petal-soft lips, enough even to draw a line of blood. But the girl just looks up at her ever-adoring when she parts to notice her handiwork; smiles wider, even, as she smears aside the glisten of crimson and sucks it clean from her fingertip.

Want burns hotter under her skin as she kisses her again with mounting need. The copper tang of blood tingles between their mouths and there's the purr of a moan in Miki's chest as her hands drag down her lover's sides to start clawing at her shirt. Before she can yank it free, though, Makimura's actually smirking along her lips as her hands cup Miki's breasts; feeling them up through her top unabashed. It's enough to make her part with a gasp, body arching down closer to hers in a fresh sway of heat.

It's foolish to think Makimura Miki doesn't go after what she wants when she _definitely_  does. With gusto and fire and hands squeezing the fullness of her chest, thumbs rubbing lazily the hardened nipples through too-tight fabric.

"I've wanted to do this for a while," the track witch sighs, watching Miki bite her lip as she savors the attention she too has wanted for so long, _too_ long. Kuroda's impatient and it shows when she finally sits up enough to tear off her own shirt and toss it aside somewhere, hands fumbling over her lover's cute, floaty blouse to yank it up over her head. Makimura just glances up at her with hooded eyes and newly-tousled hair, the beginning of a flush riding up her neck as she smiles up at her to coax her in for more.

_How dare you know what those eyes do to me, Miki._

She presses in closer, chests dragging together as they kiss. Makimura is so much firmer than she is -- lean, powerful muscle and small breasts leaning up to the softness of her own. Miki knows she too is much more brawn these days since the Sabbath that wove her anew in spider silk and sinew, but she's still curves and tender places that Makimura grabs for to urge her closer. She's got her hips now, securing her against herself as Miki groans her approval and tilts her head to kiss her all the more deeper.

They don't have much time, especially not to themselves. The night is full of dangers and riots linger like wildfire coming to burn them out of their house, out of their bones. But Miki doesn't want to disentangle herself from this moment -- _their_ moment -- or from the insistent bends of Makimura's arms. So she doesn't. In this moment, she is not at all "Miko" who follows the rules and takes what she can get. No, she is _Miki_  and she doesn't let go of her prize now that it's splayed so eager in the wrap of her web.

Some of that fire must burn bright in her eyes when she parts from the kiss because Makimura shivers with a look just as hungry, just as determined. Neither of them has to step aside for the other. Neither of them has to bow her head and forfeit the name they were born with, the name they can both wear with pride. And it's that realization that makes Miki feel so very _alive_  in this moment of theirs -- skin buzzing with heat and a bold grin slanting up one corner of her mouth. Her lover cocks her head with a coy smile of her own, a hand even cupping the slight curve of her own breast as she speaks in a voice much lower than usual.

"What're you waiting for, Miki?"

She says it. There, breathed off the moist curl of her tongue in a whisper that pounds heavy in Miki's ears. Not Miko. No longer Miko. _Miki_. And it's the sexiest thing Makimura's ever said.

Impatient now with how wet she is between her own, strong thighs, she swats the other girl's hand from her chest to take its place with her broader, firmer ones. She squeezes and feels, savoring the so-soft flesh in hands that burn for it; hands that make Makimura arch with a squeak in her voice as her head leans back amongst all her colored pillows. Miki leans in again, smearing her throat in ravenous kisses, ones with mouth sucking marks into the skin so lily-white. All the boys want their mouths here, all the boys call out for pretty Miss Makimura whose long legs and bright eyes beckon them in like something sugar-sweet. But Miki's the one marking it now, painting purple blooms of color with her lips on the throat that moans for her, only her.

"O-oh, _Miki_ ," she sighs, which makes the heat pool hotter in the pit of Kuroda's stomach. She's found herself lusting intensely in the past and especially now with the urges of a demanding demon, but not like _this_ ; not in a way that has her nearly quivering with the utmost need to pin this girl down and fuck her senseless. The way Makimura needs _her_ even in the whine of her voice and the curve of her back has her aroused in a fierce, white-hot heat she can feel burning up her veins. But she's smiling -- _smiling_  because she's loving every second of this and her partner is too. They're equals here and the attraction is a thick, tangible haze between them as they finally let loose all the things kept locked away secret and safe. So Miki's not going to waste anymore time.

Smirking, she starts spreading kisses down Makimura's front, making sure to drag her tongue over the toned muscles of her stomach before she shifts lower, lower. These jeans will have to go, so she's unbuttoning them and yanking them down with a roughness that actually makes Makimura gasp with a breathless laugh. She even wiggles her hips playfully once she's only got her underwear on, making Miki practically purr her approval in a groan as she leans in to pluck at the cute, white waistband with the scrape of her teeth.

She peels her panties down long, lean thighs and reaches to hold them apart once she's got the last piece of clothing thrown somewhere on the floor. Even here, Makimura is beautiful. She looks to her face, which is a little more flushed now that she's sprawled naked over the bedsheets. Miki offers a touch of reassurance even in the haze of her desire; smirk softening slightly at the edge as she caresses up and down one of her thighs. "I got you," she tells her. Makimura's smile returns full and fond as one of her hands reaches for Miki's, tenderly lacing their fingers together. "I knew that."

Miki swallows down a swell of emotion before bowing her head down to kiss the velvet softness of her lover's inner-thigh. She even adds an adoring nuzzle of her nose there as though to soothe her further in spite of all the graceless grabbing she's been doing. A devilman might be claws and teeth and spikes and too many legs, but they are also a beating human heart that thrives on emotion, on retaining what makes them mortal in the first place. Miki won't lose that, especially not now as the girl she loves shudders and sighs, parting her legs further for her in a wordless invitation.

Slowly, she strokes the flat of her tongue over the sweet heat of her and revels in the way Makimura practically mets beneath her mouth. Another shiver, the smallest tremble of someone unaccustomed to the contact, but she sighs and allows herself to relax into Miki's touch with utmost trust and willingness. That's as arousing as the way the girl starts to tilt her hips up closer already, like she's been waiting for this since the two of them shared lingering glances across the classroom. Miki groans her approval along the smooth folds of her, the petals she licks her tongue over and between firmer now that her lover's encouraging her. And when her strokes brush her clit, Makimura's hips give an impulsive jerk, coaxing a low purr of laughter through Miki's throat as she starts sucking the spot to accentuate it further.

"Your mouth feels... _amazing_ ," Makimura exhales, reaching a hand down to rest atop Miki's head. She's got her face leaned back and eyes closed so she doesn't notice the slightest smirk slanting the edge of the lips that adorn such devotion between her legs. And Miki's tongue lengthens, as any demon's would, in a strong curl over that sensitive bud again and this time it makes Makimura gasp out loud and clutch the bedsheets with her free hand. "O-oh my God, that's _so_  not fair!" she moans, coaxing out another husky laugh through Miki's chest as she lifts her head to make a proud show of that unnaturally long tongue licking her own lips wetter even with the added slickness of Makimura's arousal. It's got the track witch flushed and this time it's not from the rush of a good sprint.

"Try and keep up," Miki taunts down at her in spite of how much her own heart drums hard against her ribs ( _nervous, excited, thriving, yearning, giddy, passionate like they're running side by side and the finish line has both their names on it_ ). Makimura smiles and reaches to cup her lover's face in her hands, drawing it closer with green eyes lit intense and undaunted.  
"Don't look back," she tells her before crushing their mouths together again, teeth even tugging on Miki's lower lip with a low groan of her own.

Their foreheads are leaned together as Miki's hand traces fingers firmly around Makimura's slickness, rubbing teasing circles over the bud of her clit before sliding them into her and coaxing out a new whine from the girl whose hips tilt to insist them deeper, firmer. Miki can't help but bite her own lip, sighing with how hot, wet, and _good_ she feels around the slender bend of her fingers. Her face tilts down so she can adorn her neck in another rough kiss, _needing_ to mark her fresh as though in appreciation, adoration. _Beautiful Miki. Perfect Miki. And I love her, I love her..._

Makimura encourages this, starting to actually roll her hips onto Miki's fingers to enjoy them to the fullest. It has Miki smirking against the blossoming bruises, reveling in how much her dear friend has clearly wanted this,  _yearned_  for this in the same lusting haze they can finally thrive in with as much zeal as they want. But she's getting needy too, can feel the heat in her stomach bursting hot at the edges and tying knots tighter with overwhelming arousal. She wants Makimura to touch her so _bad_ , but she's been forward enough, hasn't she?

Apparently not because she feels a very tight, firm grasp grabbing clumsy for one of her thighs, even digging well-manicured nails into the firm flesh there. "M-Miki," moans Makimura from beneath her, still thrusting slim hips toward the strong strokes of her fingers. "Come here... _Please_."

Miki takes that reaching hand and directs it between her own legs where its touch instantly has her own head tipping back with an unabashed mewl of approval. These fingers are smaller and much less experienced (Miki half-wonders if Makimura touched herself as often as she did, if she curiously skimmed her fingers down below her waistband with a trace of her name on her lips), but they're eager to please and curve in between wet, warm folds. Such a graceless touch urges a smug swell in Miki's heart -- she's the first who gets to meet her at this place, at this passionate crescendo of sensation that mounts tighter and harder inside her, inside them both.

" _Fuck_ \--" she groans out as Makimura's fingers brush a place _perfect_  inside her, prompting her own hips to rut toward the angle of her touch. And all while her own wrist thrusts her fingers at a new tilt, which has Makimura arching off the mattress with a soft cry of " _Oh!_ " and chest offered up so obscene for Miki's lusting gaze. She bows her head to mouth hungrily over one pert nipple, sucking and tonguing over it without abandon. Makimura's savoring all of it, free hand clutching into Miki's hair and securing her there by the tie of her braid with powerful demand.

"S-so close, Miki...." the witch moans, curving both into the suckle of Miki's mouth over her breast and the strong thrust of fingers inside her. It entices Miki all the more, fuels her ravenous hunger in a flash of heat that has her growling against silk-smooth skin. Her lover's hand is trembling, her fingering all the more clumsy, but Miki's loving it; drinking it all in gluttonous and insatiable.

"You're so fucking hot," she breathes in a husky snarl, finally lifting her head to catch one more glimpse of her before she gets too drunk off the musk, off the spice, off the potent scent of sex with the person who loves her back. Makimura meets her gaze with half-lidded, hazy eyes -- eyes that don't even widen as she notices that Miki's own eyes have just now split into a gleaming set of eight in the thrill of it. In fact, the grasp she has on Miki's head tightens to drag her down close so that their foreheads bump together again and she can gaze dizzy into a spider's stare burning hungry for her and her heart.  
" _Fuck me_ ," is all she can manage before her head tosses back again and she cries out with how Miki fingers her harder, rougher.

Fuck her. _Fuck her_.

Any semblance of sense or control disentangles from Miki's mind as she grunts and sinks her teeth into the pretty crook of Makimura's neck. Her fingers are fumbling, but sure of where to thrust now that the girl's hips are rolling needy on them at that spot, that place that must have her seeing stars. Makimura's trying to meet her as best she can with how her fingers press just as insistent at that spot inside Miki too -- that sensitive angle that has her rutting frantic, erratic on them for more, more, _more_.

"O-oh God, Miki-- _Miki_!" cries out Makimura at last, overwhelmed and jerking her hips in fiercely as the heat overtakes her in a hard, rolling wave. Her voice, usually so soft and sure of itself, reaches for her in a pitched cry she does nothing to hide. And it's that shameless show of pleasure -- of the pleasure _she_  gave her -- that pushes Miki over the edge with her. It's too much, too hot, too bright, and she moans out low and shuddering and loud; lets it shiver all the way through her as she ruts down commanding on the fingers that fucked her here. She can't help but ride them all the way through it, as though wanting to savor every last tremor of feeling and every last piece of Makimura Miki that brushes against her.

And everything is warmth and light.

All eight of Miki's eyes have fallen closed as she slumps down against the girl who cradles her ever-intimate in those long, loving arms. For the first time in years, she feels like she's _happy_. The afterglow is a fuzzy, floating feeling that tingles through her fingers and toes, lingers like a blanket draping over the both of them where they lie in a disheveled pile atop Makimura's cute bedspread. She can hear the quiet thumping of a heart against her ears and it makes her smile -- really smile -- just to listen to the way it beats (and beats for her).

Fingers trace through Miki's hair, very gingerly undoing her tousled braid for her and letting it fall graceful into her touch. When Miki opens her eyes to regard her fondly, breathlessly, said eyes have merged into the more human set of two, but none of it at all has unsettled the still-flushed track witch who's smiling up at her with utmost devotion. She even exhales a quiet giggle as she tucks a few strands of dark hair behind Miki's ear for her.

"I've missed you," is what she says. So sweetly, so sincerely... An ache twists Miki's heart all the more, but it's a good ache. The kind that throbs with emotion shaking all the way to the core and returning the budding flowers to the ridges of her ribs. Miki missed that part of herself, that part that savored the way their fingers would link together and the way the sun would catch sparkling in the green of those eyes.

With tender care, Miki cups her counterpart's cheek and strokes a touch over it with the rough pad of her thumb.  
"I'm right here," she replies in a whisper. "Like always."

"That's right," Makimura murmurs. She leans up to kiss her only softly, lets the taste of both of them linger between their mouths like the promise her words weave together. "Always. You and me."

 _Always. Me and her_.

Miki rolls slowly off her, but Makimura's quick to cuddle up to her side and loop one leg over hers. She nuzzles cozy into her neck and a hand reaches for hers to hold with intertwined fingers. And though there could be so much more to wonder about out loud, Miki finds herself contentedly transfixed as she glances down at her lover and is met with the softness of familiar jade-green.

Green like the lily pads they would count in the rain, green like mint leaves on a chocolate cake shared with one spoon. Green like seedlings in the ash of a wildfire, green like new leaves unfurling through the crunch of what's dead.

Miki's happy to get lost in those eyes right now; get lost in a moment with the girl she no longer chases, but runs side-by-side with proudly and freely. And no matter what happens that night in the dark swelling with terrors, she'll fight for her -- fight for a future of getting lost in those green, green eyes.


End file.
